A bit on gender in cinema... just a bit!

Every intelligent Indian movie goer finds himself/ herself at cross roads once in a while. This is one of mine – gender stereotyping in cinema. True that I could consider all mass media in this respect, but for now, I prefer just commercial movies. The main reason for such a consideration is that movies have a wider outreach than other forms of entertainment.

Here am going to dissect the stereotyping language wise, since I am familiar with Malayalam, Hindi and Tamil films and the stereotyping differs in its modus operandi as we continue across the spectrum. So for the first part, let us consider Malayalam. You would think that a group as enlightened as the Malayalees would actually be averse to stereotyping. Well, it is not the case. Apparently, here, education has nothing to do with the level of hypocrisy. Or rather, I have found that it follows a y=mx+c plot; constantly increasing. In a typical Malayalam movie, there are always sneak peeks at the heroine’s belly button since a proper glance is deemed too vulgar. Sometimes, my blood boils when the extremely masculine hero points at a female character and bellows that he is not going to hurt her because, just because she is a woman, and she should always remember that.  The question that obviously arises is the nature of message that a simple dialogue, the characterization of an individualistic woman as ‘over smart’ or the demarcation of gender territories through the hero conquering the female lead, conveys.  When there is clear importance to the female lead, it often portrays the faithful mother or wife trying to overcome domestic hurdles and revolves around family. At this point, we jump the fence and tip toe to the neighbour.

Tamilians have always celebrated cinema. With genres typical of them, they worship their heroes and heroines. But what a flimsy layer of saree hides in Malayalam is bared through bright colours accentuating the ‘jerk’ of the hips. (Jerk is a term used in roller coaster design. It is the time rate of change of acceleration. I do hope you get my drift.) The actress is revered for not only her acting talent, but for every part of her body. Like Simran’s waist was famous and Rambha’s thighs delicious, each part is further classified, de-personifying the individual and giving rise to abject sexual objectification. The Tamilians need their heroes to be ultra masculine and their female leads ultra feminine. One thing I have noted is the colour discrimination. The fair, slender female has to fall in love with the hero having relatively conspicuous Dravidian features.  Here again, we find the male ‘conquering’ the female. Makes me wonder though, if we haven’t moved past such images through social evolution.  Speaking of social evolution let us dive into the Bollywood pool, shall we?

I find Hindi female leads pretty boring. Whether it be the tall, beautiful, petite figures prancing around in miniskirts or the new variety of characters that the directors try to spin out of the hip-independent-modern woman era. It is as if there is a universal set of certain attributes, which are permuted, combined and selected from within themselves, leaving no space for an extraneous variable. There is a lack of gumption in the brand ambassadors of Indian glamour industry. The machinery keeps getting stuck when it comes to women. There is no novelty in the way that bollywood female characters contribute to the story. But this is not just the crux of a particular language.

Cinema as a medium always caters to the trend of the moment. But what most film makers forget is that they also reinforce strongly the stereotypes existing in the society. It is almost like the butterfly effect. For every small change in the system, ripples are created, which as time moves forward becomes a massive ripple. Now the problem here is that, we cannot simply stop this process. Rather, new set of conditions are to be added to it so that it follows a new path. I strongly believe that every artist should act as a variable. It becomes the moral obligation of the artist as the tool of the director to necessarily malfunction in case there is a dissonance between their belief system and the script’s requisite. They cannot go on embedding this ritualisation of primordial gender conceptualization in the vast populace. Especially in the illiterate or the semi literate people, over whom cinema has a great emotional control. This cycle has to stop somehow. But I do wonder how. However, I look at it, there are no concrete measures. Every small factor negates or adds to another social factor, creating a symphony, which desperately needs to be broken.

Remembering a conversation from Alice in Wonderland,

"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to walk from here?"
“That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,” said the Cat.
“I don’t much care where,” said Alice.
“Then it doesn’t matter which way you walk.”

Majority of Indian cinema viewers are like Alice. They have no direction. But, the destination always alters the direction. We should decide what our destination should be.

No more

Am no more dead, my ashes
vaguely scattered in the wind,
carried away in the coldness of
his breath; no more numb.

My lung starts to breathe with
a vigor and purpose hitherto
unknown, nameless; so i run,
surreal in sublime freshness.

The deep gashes, nasty cuts that
profoundly I presented myself,
heal, veins close, wounds seal,
as I cease to suck my blood.

Though death coveted my heart,
inert soul stirs to life slowly yet.
trembling, scared and forlorn, oh!
but born of hope’s fiery womb.
Sown in love’s brutal floods.

On... vernacularising English

The paradox of this age is represented in many forms, one of the prominent ones being language. I opened the newspaper to find that another Indian –American child has won the Spelling Bee, the eighth to do so in eleven years. The father reportedly said that this was because of the emphasis on education. On the other hand, we have a generation of Indians who are accustomed to ‘fucking’, ‘bitching’ and the lot. So let us consider the fucking bitching Indian.  I find this personally disgusting. I was one of them for a brief period of a couple of months some time back. Used such terms a lot. Instead of thinking ‘what are you doing?’ angrily, I began to think, ‘what the fuck are you doing?’.  I thought it was better and more or less benign than swearing in Malayalam. Well, there is also the point that I don’t know how to swear much. Then there came the realization that English or Malayalam, swearing isn’t good just for fun, even though it might be in my mind. There is a level of decency that I have to keep while interacting with others and that shouldn’t include negative incursions from any language.

Again, consider the way Indians use English language. We have quite made it our own, constantly vernacularising it. Though it is in an entirely different way than how the Brits intended with ‘filtering theory’. The other side of the coin is where a section says that English should be English. We cannot deviate from the printed language of Webster’s and Oxford, even though usages like slum dog were shortlisted to be included in them. They feel that in a world where the osmotic balance is tilting in favor of vernacular incursion, the Anglo balance ought to be maintained. In a nation where around a hundred million people use English as their second language, it is a pretty strict restriction to keep, forgetting the evolution of language and ordering it to stay static.

One of the examples of vernacularising English is evident when we ‘pass out’ of college. I used this term once to an English professor and he immediately chastised me. I went home disillusioned as I had always thought that I had good command over this language. But hardly had a week gone by when I saw the exact same term used in the exact same context in a news paper article. That is when I began wondering about language and how we change it through daily use. Every day, like every other aspect of society, language changes. The effect maybe miniscule in the short term, but in the long run, it has the same effect as the literary evolution from Chaucer to Bukowski. It is just the same as vernacular English was once deemed unsuitable to write seriously.

But one point to be added here is that nowadays, changes are taking place rather rapidly than any great writer would have dared imagine. The diasporas of every race are everywhere. As such is the case, it becomes increasingly easy for language to seep through geo-political boundaries. A major contribution is globalization, which achieved its maximal thrust in the recent years and continues to act as the arbitrator for an accelerated transformation.

In India’s case, there is no uniform assimilation of English into its fold. India itself being diverse, the absorption of an alien language is itself in different measures. But what I love most about this integration is that it simplifies the language, breaks down the components to a level where every person can utilize it. What remains is what the pragmatics conveys through a bottom-up process.

We have this quirk here down south. We ‘ify’ it. We ‘nokki-fy’, we ‘thalli-fy’ etc. There are other forms of integration too. For being sentimental, we just use ‘senti’. It is a noun and a verb both. What is the use of millennia of cultural integration if we choose not to enjoy its advantages? The English sure have. What is ‘coir’ if not a variation of ‘kayar’?  Dacoit, jungle, loot etc are just some examples of such incorporation.  The sentinels of language purity seldom attend to the evolution and interpretation of socio cultural processes in which language plays a huge role. It is like the gene pool, only that we are collectively enriching it by throwing in usages and coining new words. Some sink to the depths with disuse while others are fished out, polished and put to work.

Like Samuel Johnson said, ‘Language is the dress of thought’. I sure am glad I don’t wear nineteenth century gowns.

       

Letting go

I am so glad he eats
By himself with no help.
Am glad he understands my words,
In languages two, maybe three.
Happy that my silence comprehended,
Though fleetingly vague.
Relieved his legs cover
Longer distances and farther every year.

His opinions and questions,
Curious and brash, unevenly.
I smile at the sound of toothbrush,
Without my ominous hollering.
Truly astounding that he walks
Home from class; by himself.
And when the clock hastily
Strikes the hour, he knows the cuckoo
Sings play, homework and sleep.
He buys his sweets and counting
The balance, smiles divinely
Pearly teeth and flourishing gaps.

Then why do I often smell him,
Inhaling the last of his innocence?
Why am I at peace when,
At times he pats my bosom,
Comforted in their protection?
Every giggle and laughter
Cherished and revered like never before,
A small sting at times that lullabies
Are no more requisite.

But he still hides his face in my
Chest when he cries.

Dedicated to a friend... No... it is not any of you. So stop wondering.

Some time back, a friend and I had this conversation about homosexuality and how ‘deviant’ it is. It started me thinking. Why is it that an educated person, who has seen much of the world and someone who is respected by many, so myopic when it comes to homosexuality? Why is it that we label people rather than get to know that person as an individual?

I could write very objectively, logically and dispassionately presenting my idea, but I wanted it to be different. That is why I decided to write this. It is hardly mushy, political or philosophical. It is just a life experience.

When I got into college, I was fresh from a culture that was diverse. Having studied in a Kendriya Vidyalaya, I had friends across the social cross section. I grew up in an environment which was alive with different languages, creativity, loving teachers and most importantly-innocence. I loved my school. I still do. So, college was a bit different. Having joined a Women’s College, I thought that there was not much scope for fun like I was used to in school.  (Oh, that prejudice was gone by the time I was a senior.)To make matters worse, there was a  culture shock. Most students in class came from schools in groups. They had their own cliques, conversations, interests. I felt totally left out. So I began to mingle more, in a very superficial way. I was everybody’s acquaintance, but nobody’s friend. I became a front bencher because the gangs had taken up the rear benches. That is where I found a new friend. Let us call her X. So one day, X comes and sits down with me and tells me she couldn’t make it earlier that week because she had an NCC camp. I was alright. In my usual diplomacy, I enjoyed her companionship.

As an year passed, though she would disappear for weeks together, she became my closest friend there. She was strong, opinionated, but diplomatic; her NCC training made her extremely resourceful. You could say that where my heart became empathetic but needed a practical helping hand, she was always there. And of course, she was a brilliant actress. I have this passion for theatre, which she shared as well. (Funny, because, now that I remember, my roommate through my grad school was a brilliant actress as well.) In short, she is the only one of college mates that I found worthy of trying to trace after all these years. X was the person who was always full of these little insights that one marvels at. It was around then that my fight with a bunch of my classmates reached the peak. I think it was more of a prestige issue on their part to ‘put me down’ than my idea of silly quarrel. She stood by me then. I thank her for that. I will never forget the way she laughed when those silly girls finally elicited a public reply from me which left them sweating for months to come. I will never forget the way she rushed to me on my birthday, right after a camp and handed me a collection of O Henry’s short stories.

But best of all, I will not forget one particular incident. We were at the Mysore palace as part of a College trip. She kept looking at the roof and finally pointed somewhere and said, ‘That glass tile doesn’t match with the rest.’ You can imagine my confusion. I looked for around ten minutes before I came to ‘that tile’. She was right. One had a different pattern. As I looked at her with awe, she slowly walked away, unaware of my fascination at how observant she was.

Maybe I should have foreseen it. But well, frankly, it is a bit hard to assess sexuality when you are amidst a thousand something women everyday, who wander through the campus, completely and abundantly free, without a care in the world. It is a bit like the female version of modern day Rishyashringan.

So one day, we were talking as usual, walking along the road and I was admiring a guy who was walking in front of us. She suddenly tells me that she isn’t into that kind of guys. So I asked her what kind of guy she was into. Her reply was, ‘None’. That was the first time I had an insight into her sexual orientation. I think my first reaction was, ‘oh my’. The one thing that offended me was not the fact that she was a lesbian, but that she didn’t tell me for nearly two years. Till then, I was ideologically pro-gay. But, here was a closeted human being, in the typical Kerala society, who had become my confidante and emotionally close and I didn’t know the most basic thing about her. It freaked me out. I had never understood properly all the media sensationalism about a lesbian couple living together in Kerala, till then. I had never understood the emotional hurdles, the trust issues till then.  She was waiting for a chance, assessing me, measuring me up to be her confidante all that time. I still feel the anger at times I felt then. Not at her, but at this system that makes an ordinary person not able to express herself. She was beautiful, self assured, funny, intelligent. But she couldn’t live her life her way because of society denying something that has been around ever since modern man began cohabiting the gene pool.

It has been four years since I saw her last. Typical of her, she just disappeared. Trying to contact her was useless. I hope that one day, in a characteristic Houdini act of hers; I turn around to see her smiling at me with those ever warm eyes. This is to you, my friend, who came, saw and conquered.